The Diary of Algernon Moncrieff
by EverDreaming.Faith
Summary: The Diary of Algernon Moncrieff- Or, rather, Three Entries from The Diary of Algernon Moncrieff. Set just before and during the events of The Importance of Being Earnest. Spoilers if you haven't read it.
1. Chapter 1

(AN: This was written as an English assignment- A creative response to Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of Being Earnest". Disclaimer: No, I do not own this. I'm 16.)

_Friday, 8th of May 1895_

Dearest Journal,

As you know, Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen arrive for tea tomorrow. I have a great desire to run off to the country and take care of our dear Mr. Bunbury again, but I fear his coincidental failing health, if used in this frequency again, will become apparent to our Dear Aunt. I am already quite certain Gwendolen is beginning to suspect something strange about our Bunbury, but thankfully she has very little interest in my affairs.

Lane is at present in Convent Garden, buying white bread, butter and cucumbers for those delicious little cucumber sandwiches Aunt Augusta is so fond of. I briefly considered asking him to add a great deal of things to the list, just to keep him out longer, but decided against the idea at the last second. Heaven knows he can be such a bore sometimes, I find myself revelling in the time when he is out.

Onto other matters, now, Journal!

Do you remember when I told you of our dear friend Ernest's rather interesting cigarette case? Well, he has still not come to collect it. I doubt he remembers he left it here in the first place, but I was sure he would have come by again by now, regardless. It has been over a week since he last dined here and I am growing impatient. I have seen far to less of him and far to much of Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen in that time. Perhaps Gwendolen is the reason? Perhaps his affections have melted for her, his eye now laid upon another and he simply cannot bare the awkwardness of seeing her again after all their disgustingly boring flirting. If that be the case, then I will be glad for it. They are becoming much too interested in one another for my liking and their behaviour is quite simply sickening. But still, I grow impatient with this. I have too many questions to be kept waiting.

But, I am afraid I have gotten quite off what I was going to say. Last night, I had Lane bring me the cigarette case again, so I could inspect it (When I confront Ernest about it, I want to have memorised it, in order to show him I truly need a proper explanation). Now, as you, dear Journal, know, I have considered many possibilities about just who this Cecily is. And, for that matter, her "Dear Uncle Jack". I find it utterly bewildering why Ernest would have something clearly marked for another. I have considered theft, but I am quite certain Ernest is capable of affording his own cigarette case. In fact, I would assume he is quite capable of purchasing a great many cigarette cases, all of which of a greater quality that this one. Not that "his" current case is of a poor quality, no, no. On the contrary, I quite like it.

Excuse me, for I have gotten off task again. But, then, what fun would this dreary world be if we all stayed on the straight and clear lines set out for us by the unseen powers of "morality"? Exactly! We must all stray from our points once in a while to keep things interesting.

Anyway, back onto the case of Ernest.

As well as theft, which I am quite certain is out of the question due to the reasons listed above, I have considered that perhaps he has it by mistake. Perhaps, he left it on a table somewhere, looked away at the same time another gentleman put his case down, and without meaning to both left the gathering with the wrong case!

But, no. Many a time have I seen him pause while retrieving a cigarette to read the inscription. He would have realised the mistake, if there had been one, and gotten his own case back. He is overly cautious with his things, it becomes quite boring.

But, dear Journal, one idea has plagued me. What if Ernest has his own Bunbury? I have dismissed the idea, of course, but the idea just keeps...popping into my brain. What if? What if his Bunbury is named Jack, and the "Little Cecily" has heard of "Dear Uncle Jack's" ...something, and so wrote him his very own inscription on a cigarette case. Ernest, then, knowing there to be no Jack, takes the case for himself! Yes, considering our dear Bunbury, that seems perfectly plausible. Except that Ernest is a perfect bore and much to unimaginative to have such a useful invention as a Bunbury. So, once again, we are back to the drawing board.

I think it is plainly obvious the inscription was written by someone hansom. It is in her writing, you can simply tell she is a great beauty. Young, too. Perhaps small, as well, as denoted by signing "Little Cecily".

One can ponder this arising mystery for hours. I, however, must leave these questions to you, Journal. Lane apparently has arrived back and must speak with me about something or another. Which reminds me, I really must ask him about the number of bottles of champagne he has entered into the book as being consumed last Thursday.

Until next time, old friend.

Yours sincerely,

Algy.


	2. Chapter 2

_Saturday 9th of May, 1895 _

Journal,

You'll never guess what has just happened. You simply won't! Ernest isn't _really_ Ernest, the devil! He let everyone believe he was called Ernest when in fact, his name is actually _Jack_.

Shocking, I know!

Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The Albany is, in fact, Mr. _Jack_ Worthing, B.4, The Albany!

He uses the name "Ernest" while in the city so he can be a right old scoundrel and not have any retribution when he goes back to the country to visit his _ward_. His _ward_, Journal!  
>Cecily Cardew- the...niece, I think, Of someone. In all honesty I don't rightly remember, my mind was still reeling with the implications of what'd he'd just told me.<p>

But, yes. We have finally figured out who dear Little Cecily is. According to Jack, she is eighteen-years-old and lives in The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire. Well, he didn't exactly tell me that bit. For some reason, he is adamant that I will never lay eyes on her! How ridiculous, I know, but I managed to cleverly discover the location. So, to spite him, guess where we're going, Journal!

The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.

Now, I am aware that, like Ernest, I mean, Jack, they may be a bit wary of who they let into their home. I, however, have a devious plan to get past this.

Well, as you know, Jack uses the name Ernest while in town so he can have fun. Well, in the country, he also uses Ernest as I use our dear Bunbury. According to Cecily, and the others in the country, Jack has an older brother by the name of Ernest, who is a devious little scoundrel and is in constant need of his help and guidance. Now, Jack plans to kill off his dear older brother, something totally uncalled for in my opinion, when he marries Gwendolen- Oh, Journal! I have just remembered that I have not yet told you what else happened yesterday! Well, let me finish telling you of my plan, and then I shall tell you the other big news.

Well, as I just mentioned, Jack plans to kill his brother off. One of the reasons being that Cecily has recently become very interested in Ernest, despite having never met him. Jack will also be in town till Monday. Now, if the poor, lost soul, Ernest was to turn up their doorstep, who would they be to turn a family member in need away!

Do you see my plan yet, Journal?

If I turn up at their doorstep, telling them that I am Jacks older brother Ernest, and Cecily's cousin, they will surely ask me to stay. Then, after some fun, I am back in town by Monday, before Jack ever finds out. Excellent plan, In my opinion! Positively wonderful. So, in roughly two hours we shall make our way to the train station, and then go forth to Hertfordshire and meet the dear Little Cecily.

Now, onto what I mentioned before.

Yes, it is true. Ernest, or, should I say, Jack and Gwendolen are engaged to be _married_. Terrible, isn't it! Thank the Lord for Aunt Augusta, she has put her foot down, and is adamant that no such thing will take place.

When Jack arrived yesterday, he told me that he was in town for pleasure, before informing me that he is in town to propose to my cousin! He considers that "pleasure"! I must admit, it has made me wonder what he considers a tragedy. Pleasure! In my opinion, marriage in nothing short of a torturous death sentence. Ernest, however, disagrees. He believes that my approach to the subject is "_unromantic_". I am more romantic that he and _he_, who plans to _marry_ my cousin (_Without my consent_!) calls me, who has_ no_ such plans, "_Unromantic_"!

Well, Journal, you and I both know the truth of the matter. He is an unromantic bore who has no concept of fun or romance.

While we are on the subject of marriage, Lane seems to think that marriages are pleasurable. Though I hate to admit it, the bore he is, Lane does seem to have a better view on the whole subject. Divorces are one of the better things we as a species have invented. Though, without the invention of marriage, we would not need the divorce court to fix those mistakes, would we?

I, however, shall have no need of the divorce court, for I shall simply not get married in the first place.

There I must leave you, Journal.

Until we meet again,

Yours sincerely,

Algy.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sunday, 10th of May, 1895._

Journal,

I have been terribly busy. You shall never guess what has transpired here, for it has been chaos! I am sure Jack would see it as a bad thing, but without chaos, where would that leave us? In the dreary bore of well-behaved society.

Well, first of all, my plan did not go to plan. It was a perfect plan, of course, and everyone believed that I was Mr. Ernest Worthing- I even gave them Jack's card, that said "Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, Albany". What left my plan in shambles did not in anyway stem from an error of mine. No! Guess which lovely liar decided to show up today? Jack. He turned up, despite telling Gwendolen that he would be in town until Monday, wearing a suit of mourning, telling everyone that "I" had died. Of course, by then, I had already introduced myself to everyone as "Ernest", and so the situation was quickly "rectified", with everyone now believing that Jack had been misinformed of his brothers (Aka, of my) death. While he has gone along with this lie, he is furious with me. I can't see why. He was the one that lied about having a brother Ernest, and he was the one who told me about it! What could I be expected to do? Just sit at home, knowing that there was a beautiful young ward just dying to meet "my" acquaintance! No! He knew I would have to meet her, and so really this whole thing is his fault! He has tried to order me back to London, but I have refused to go. After all, how could I leave my future-wife here!

Yes, you heard me right, Journal.

I have asked dear, sweet Cecily to be my wife.

The instant my eyes fell upon her, I knew that we would enter into the holy and blessed institution of matrimony. She is simply the image of perfection, I tell you, Journal. I curse Jack for keeping her from me all these years. How dare he! We could have been living in perfect happiness these past years, and he, the cruel, sadist he is, did not even tell me of her existence. He is not aware of our engagement yet, and I feel that with his own wanting to marry Gwendolen, he should not object. Though, she is eighteen, and more than capable of making her own decisions. If he does object, then hopefully we will not need his approval. Even if he does approve- and he should- I do not feel that I shall ever forgive him for such a great injustice. How dare he keep her from me. No, I shall never get over such great injustice. Never.

But, we are engaged to be married. My Cecily and I shall be together in holy matrimony for the duration of our lives.

There is one hitch, though, that should be, well, cleared up by this evening.

She still believes my name is Ernest.

Not only that, but she has disclosed to me that if my name were not Ernest, but something like Algernon, she may not have agreed to marry me at all!

Now, that simply cannot happen. If she called off our engagement over something as silly as a name (And she _has_ called out engagement off once before, though not over a name- According to her, we have been engaged since the 14th of February, didn't you know?), then I simply could not live the rest of my life knowing I could have done something about it.

So, I have spoken with the priest, and he as agreed to baptise me at five-thirty this evening. The baptism will be a very quiet event, and she will not know of it. Afterwards, though, I shall truly be her Ernest, and we can marry without any false pretences.

Again, dear Journal, I am afraid that I must take my leave. I hear Jack- the devil- calling for me. He sounds furious (Then again, he has been since he discovered my arrival here).

So, farewell, Journal. This is the last time I will sign under the name of Algy, for tomorrow I shall be Mr. Ernest Worthing.

Goodbye, Journal. Say your farewells to Mr. Algernon Moncrieff- a sophisticated name if ever there was one, and be prepared for the arrival of Mr. Ernest Worthing.

With love,

Mr. Algernon Moncrieff. Aka,

Algy.


End file.
